"tumultuously" poems
We were once told that we are the missing part of someone else with an empty heart and a lost soul, taking the absurd, roaming around the world as barely whole.
And as I look at two points, a double vision
meeting the one's orbs, unwaveringly— a north star, perfectly aligned upon the night sky. An anchor to a heart, it is engraved deep in waves, tumultuously enfolding each flesh— a longing as to be found in the wilderness, a pillar as to be run into, safely.
And though my love clung to a myth,
bounded to a constellation embodied us
and traced in our palms, they will remain a story from the past.
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 9:05 AM UTC
Senlin sat before us and we heard him.
He smoked his pipe before us and we saw him.
Was he small, with reddish hair,
Did he light his pipe with a meditative stare
And a twinkling flame reflected in blue eyes?
'I am alone': said Senlin; 'in a forest of leaves
The single leaf that creeps and falls.
The single blade of grass in a desert of grass
That none foresaw and none recalls.
The single shell that a green wave shatters
In tiny specks of whiteness on brown sands . . .
How shall you understand me with your hearts,
Who cannot reach me with your hands? . . .'
The city dissolves about us, and its walls
Are the sands beside a sea.
We plunge in a chaos of dunes, white waves before us
Crash on kelp tumultuously,
Gulls wheel over foam, the clouds blow tattered,
The sun is swallowed . . . Has Senlin become a shore?
Is Senlin a grain of sand beneath our footsteps,
A speck of shell upon which waves will roar? . . .
Senlin! we cry . . . Senlin! again . . . no answer,
Only the crash of sea on a shell-white shore.
Yet, we would say, this is no shore at all,
But a small bright room with lamplight on the wall;
And the familiar chair
Where Senlin sat, with lamplight on his hair.
1.6k
she lived as a wave crashes over the salty
shore. rolling so very quick across obstacles
scattered across the seabed of life. tumultuously
pushing her way to the promise of safety
on the warm, dry sand.
her hands and knees were calloused
with the marks of thousands
upon thousands of barnacles
but these hands retained a tenderness
only a long-time lover of the sea could posses
after years of salt watered skin.
sometimes when the waves would roll
she would get through the storm by dreaming
of when it would finally crest
and she would fall into sweet release
and temporary recession.
she was plagued with the promise,
or the ever-pressing hope that one night
the scars would vanish and she
would ride the tide without fear of crashing
hard against the rocks.
she didn't mind the weather but the troubling
memory of the storm and the wailing
winds of her past echoed in her ears. she wished
to be a stream that could wash
away when the rain stopped falling.
a seafarer must survive any storm
to be successful in their endeavours
and though she may lose herself in the sea of time
she will soon again wash up onto the safety
of the salty seashore.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
I wish I had a thousand trips around our lovely star
So that I could go back and forth to kingdoms near and far.
To soar forever, taking time, enjoying every bit,
And bathing in the sky of love for every mind I lit.
The bows I'd take, the vows I'd make, new friends for every day.
I'd trek alone, all by myself, about the Milky Way.
I'd smile back and share the tears of strangers and of kin.
I'd live my life and help live theirs – no virtue and no sin.
I'd fly with bats and swim with whales across the ocean blue.
I'd walk the line, I'd take the stage, I’d chuff and churn for you.
I'd learn to live and learn to love and learn to breathe again.
I’d salvage bygone knowledge that I’m but another man.
I'd break the ice, I'd warm the hearts, I'd open all the doors
Which lead right to the fields of stars as my life runs its course.
I'd reap and rove, I'd rave and roam, relentlessly reborn,
Reluctant to let go but still – I’d mend the pages torn.
I’d show myself – and let it spread – the message of pure love:
First love yourself, thy neighbour then, and last – the sky above,
Find strength within, the courage true, the potency of wit,
And don’t regret the choices made nor every second split.
I’d crawl and dash and dive and rise, oblivious of time.
I’d juggle fates and bend the rules, incessant in my prime.
I’d teach and preach, I’d do and dare, defying night and day.
I’d swear and slur, I’d speak and stare as my time ticks away...
But life’s too short, and I don’t get to have one thousand trips
And all I want to ask for is a plethora of blips –
A-blurred, aghast, agog, alight, astonishingly apt –
I’d be forever in their debt, tumultuously rapt.
And on my final trip around, I'd love to sail away…
To throw that fond glance at the moon
And die another day.
October – Movember ‘16
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
I thought everything slowed down
instead I was the one who picked up velocity
So fast I can actually see sound
What was once invisible to the naked eye
comes in a flash with such ferocity
and then like a fire fly with a soft glow and gentle float
particular particles in molecular motion
breaking boundaries and serving stimulation
directing definition to fabricate function
tumultuously tearing to synchronistic systems
Wires, strings, ripples, waves
their shape and nature being the essence
their interaction becoming the center of change
"Can you tug, tie, splash or collide in this universe?"
"Yes"
But can you see where it is you are doing this in the pattern?"
"..."
"Learn to know, watch the rebound"
Awareness within brought to the external against the external, to flow internally at all times
through practice and patience
finesse and will
fate becomes a tool
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
Missing you is like a tornado in Kansas
Tumultuously whirling past barren grass lawns,
Shattering the glass windows of old, forgotten
Convenience stores and local barber shops,
Twisting and teasing the warm, summer air
Until it finally gains momentum enough
To come tumbling down upon unsuspecting
Rosemary bushes and rusty metal fences,
While I'm sitting here,
Trying to make sense of how I'm supposed to feel about it all,
On a beach somewhere between Monterey and San Francisco.
It isn't that you don't exist, or that you aren't occurring,
Destructively whirling your mixed intentions
Across the pavement
That once gave way to my strange, unrestricted heart.
It's not that I don't care about you,
Or that I don't notice
When you make your presence all but unnoticeable,
But, maybe I don't see you anymore.
You're sentiment can't reach me here.
The harsh tornado winds aren't quite strong enough
To blow across my indifferent face
All the way from Kansas.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
I don't know who I am again
lost myself around apex
of that last orbit
Flung tumultuously around
and around
Shooting stars
unlike guided missiles
haven't a trajecting
idea where they're going
Some land on something
Others fizz out
This blip, having known that
Big Bangster Gangster
which projected each ion
on some other
had no bigger picture in mind
and is likely still
making it up
as we go along
So, I tip my hat to Milky Way
and pray for fusion
upon something
anything
freely radicalized
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
*Waterfalls; both of water from my eyes and blood from my veins
run tumultuously - and the pain so irrevocably remains.*
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
She radiates brilliance based on fine features, good form and skillfully applied cosmetics.
He balances confidence and accessibility with an unerring certainty of success.
The universe is expanding, Inflation rampant,
Stretching everything more than any yoga instructor would allow.
Our planet is stuck in motion at hundreds of thousands kilometers per second.
I stock up on Dramamine and Ginger Ale.
She worries that she will never see him again.
He is lost in the business of the day.
These galaxies race away from us faster than the speed of light
And are accelerating more each trillionth of a second.
Some Alien out there has calculated that this is the last week to DVR an episode of the Game of Thrones before losing all contact.
Some Star Watcher is now stuck with a static picture of this faraway galaxy
from here on out.
She is not simply a set of particles:
she is moving very fast.
In relation to her changing position in space,
he is moving even faster.
This universe is not stable;
It strays too far from itself
Running away from a past that was too small.
This universe is accelerating
As if it has immunity from moving violations
Or has appropriately mounted a very good radar detector.
One day her particles and his
Will dance tumultuously in the debris encircling some infant sun
Or get pulled into a black hole.
She radiates,
He balances,
The universe inflates,
Stretching everything way beyond belief
And ultimately, slightly out of reach.
-- Zumwalt (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 1:14 PM UTC
Water swoosh and water swish,
Take me away in your liquid bliss,
Let me fall and fall away,
Down to the bottom of the way,
Lead me through your twists and turns,
While I tumultuously scream, "Absurd!"
Let your adrenaline match with mine,
Overpower me with your speed divine!
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
A torrent flows
tumultuously toward the sea.
Tales recounting of
rivers run and rapids
Swum. Awaiting the arrival
of the untamed.
Wolves wander
with her. Reclaiming
Untouched wilderness,
which waits for our return.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
There once was a boy who knew
her lines were drawn in the sand
he knew where she chose to stand
but he ebbed and flowed like the tide
and washed all her lines away
the tides tumultuously turned:
took off running and left her burned
when he whose first step seemed harmless
acted thoughtlessly against her No's
quickly the sand turned quick
her body began to stick
- to his, and she sank
unwillingly into his rhythms
forever changed her rhythms, her course
with the force of his own ***********
Ignored her Pleads
for the sake of his "needs"
recollections slightly blurred
but it's unfogged that he heard
he Knew.
he knew.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 1:04 AM UTC
She lives in beauty
Though she may live with it she knows not of it
Just as the fish of the sea filtering oxygen from the waters knows not that the water
its in, is consequently the air it breaths.
She lives in beauty nonetheless
amusing all who see it and cherish it
to their deaths.
Through her youth the bounty is time and possibly a gaze that she may bestow you with profoundly.
If her gaze had never fallen upon myself I would have no words to share nor reasons for care as without the sight of her eyes on my mind I wouldn't have the slightest knowledge of beauty nor time.
She lives in beauty just as the aspens trees of Colorado glowing in their bright yellow fall coats Our love is a tree which stands solemnly.
What grew from a seed took off exponentially, and flourished magnanimously creating from within its own awning of protection, providing shade and comfort to all who may pass.
Though time dwindles and autumns rough breezes and cold winter nights nears, the flurry of winds brushes debris and leaves from the tree tumultuously.
Standing prostrate and naked the timber appears to be desolate, austere and bleak. But were it not for our sun and its ultraviolet rays to send warmth and divinity assembling from within the sugars from its cache and photosynthesis taking place in its stems to muster up all the energy to grow anew. And like once before the tree stands in all its glory preened in green sharing the love between all living things absorbing the carbon dioxide we exhale and blessing us all with the very thing that enables us to survive.
From mornings first light to nights last second of twilight does her beauty shine bright as a supernova burgeoning.
Alight from the mountains she wistfully wastes no time waiting, instead she's actively demonstrating integrity and what it takes to be in solidarity with all around her.
Mirrored flame to cherish her colour
Embellishing our moments together forever my lover
Our days turn to nights filled with more than laughter and as sure as her beauty shines bright her love is pure to my delight as she lives in beauty
May 5, 2022
May 5, 2022 at 8:58 AM UTC
*Sparrows twittering in the eaves of my rooftop
The leaves slowly falling from the tree
And I yonder through the hills;
Patches of blue sky illuminate my eyes
The nostalgia of yesterday ringing in the back of my head
Afflicted my soul as I weep tumultuously
I am ill from my own desolation
with no elixir to pour and fill the heart
The years has come, and I came to realize
that I pay no heed to life
Looking back, where freedom was born,
until it was locked
O' bless my soul
so when I close my eyes, I'll feel the bliss
I must soar, but my wings are broken
I am awake, but my feelings are vague
My existence was dulled and faded with the wind
I descend from agony and fear
Contemplating;
the torture of tangled memory
and a riot mind*
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
tumultuously drunk,
in no particular order
on love
on wine
on loneliness,
but I remember too late,
it makes me sick
when I mix my drinks.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
there is a storm in the glass of water you leave on your bedside table
it rises and falls within the walls of transparency as we rise and fall within the walls of your transparencies
every wave is clear and the rush of your voice radiates over the azure sea
I am the storm, reflecting my clouds down onto your crystal surface
Rolling tumultuously over the still
Our eyes meet in the heart of the sea
My thunder crashes into your tidal
and the glass of water you leave on your bedside table crashes to the floor
sunlight shatters the overcast and washes the room in a rainbow of transparencies
we breathe salt and fall asleep on the beach
c.d.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
behold the frolicking artichoke
bewildering complexities of her natural
hues unfolding tumultuously before me
cascading into the dark abyss
of raw power as her succulent heart
pounds her silken extremities
growing and shrinking before my eyes
like the disappearing light at the end of a long tunnel
oh artichoke we are looking to
you to reveal our hidden destiny
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
Always. Anytime anyone asks about always, but before brutish chance can coerce, clashing choices decide destiny. Everyone except the exceptional few feel flustered, frustrated, foolish, faint, and frankly, ****** God gives graciously, gestures gestating generosity. However, he has his intricate intelligence of intimate ideas and ideologies. In jest, jubilee, and joviality, a juncture. A joust for the jugular. Keen and kindling, kindred killing, keelhauling laughter and loitering love, mankind makes mistakes. Many mistakes. Mortality is... notorious. Openly obstinate, obfuscating perpetual pain with quick, quiet quarks of rotating rationale and regular, radical, senseless self sacrifice and sacrilege; Stop. Time turns tumultuously, ticking towards tomorrow. This thing, these things, take time. Understand. Ultimately, unhappiness vexes vivaciously. Without withdrawal, where would we wander? I wonder. Yearning for yore, zealots. Zephyrs on the wind.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
I greet 2 am tumultuously
my leg aches with pain
while my soul aches to dance
to be free
without constraint
without restraint
just wild
I have class at 9am
but I don't even want to sleep
I just want to dance
all I've ever wanted was to dance.
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
slow dance with me
i’ll bust out the old record player
place the album we used to love by day in and day out
the vinyl’s worn down, full of scratches and slightly lopsided from the constant wear and tear of the needle
it repels being placed on the turn tables, but i get it to fit
the needle hits and the sound is never quite right
all the damage caused to it has changed the melody from harmonic to cacophonic
nevertheless, we dance
ignoring the utter clarity that the record’s shanty melody casts upon us
that we, much like the record, are destined to break at the scratch of a needle
that we have slowly become equivalent to the album that rings in our ears and fills our tumultuously silent house
we both know this to be truth, however we refrain from acknowledging our impending doom and ignore it for an ignorance we try to convince ourselves is true
the needle runs off the record
our feet slow to a halt
the sound of a needle hitting dead wax fills the room
and we dissipate back into the ignore we so desperately need to be true
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 10:47 PM UTC
as your evening slowly and tumultuously withers and absconds into the frivolity that is existence, grant favor to old friends , peculiar run-ins, dodgy runaways, haggard souls, beasts, and saints alike.
~Alan Harley
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC
Amber leaves twirling, showering, freefalling tumultuously,
Lingering in air as whimsical nostalgia
Beckons harmoniously the viewer’s senses
Eyes moistly twinkling, peering upon the honey and rose colored spectacle
Nose sniffing past the cool November air to smokestacks
Puffing thick white plumes of aromatic oak and hickory into the onward skies above
Ears alert to the crisp wind whipping through pines and ruffling piles of leaves leaving a wake of multicolored paper Mache tornadoes
Mouth inhaling the dry air stinging the tongue as a penny with
lips curled, smiling in awe of the season and all its glory
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 12:57 PM UTC